The death of Je­sus Christ, our Lord,
We ce­le­brate with one ac­cord;
It is our com­fort in dis­tress,
Our heart’s sweet joy and hap­pi­ness.

He blot­ted out with His own blood
The judg­ment that against us stood;
He full atone­ment for us made,
And all our debt He ful­ly paid.

That this is now and ev­er true
He gives an ear­nest ev­er new:
In this His ho­ly sup­per here
We taste His love so sweet, so near.

His Word pro­claims, and we be­lieve,
That in the sup­per we re­ceive
His ve­ry bo­dy, as He said,
His ve­ry blood for sin­ners shed.

A pre­cious food is this in­deed—
It ne­ver fails us in our need—
A heav­en­ly man­na for our soul.
Until we safe­ly reach our goal.

Oh, blest is each be­liev­ing guest
Who in this pro­mise finds his rest;
For Je­sus will in love ab­ide
With those who do in Him con­fide.

The guest that comes with true in­tent
To turn to God and to re­pent,
To live for Christ, to die to sin,
Will thus a ho­ly life be­gin.

They who His Word do not be­lieve
This food un­wor­thi­ly re­ceive,
Salvation here will ne­ver find—
May we this warn­ing keep in mind!

Help us sin­cere­ly to be­lieve
That we may wor­thi­ly re­ceive
Thy sup­per and in Thee find rest.
Amen, he who be­lieves is blest.